Detective To District: "Drop Dead!"

"Somebody messes with me, I'm gonna mess with him." - Al Capone, The Untouchables

My district had its annual Christmas party after work this morning. Nothing like drinking at 9am. Since I am getting promoted - and I can't stand most of those people - I made an excuse not to go. Thankfully, I still have a few friends left there who would make great intelligence officers. I received an e-mail report of the festivities an hour ago. Here are the lowlights:

Hold on, I have to duct tape my head before we proceed.

• The "woman" everyone refers to as "Barney Fife" - she's a dead ringer for Don Knotts - was telling everyone that I wouldn't like being a detective. I guess she figured I wouldn't be able to handle the workload. This from the biggest bum in the department. Fife was in my academy class, and she has no sick time left. None after eleven years! This broad takes off sick for a pimple. Hey Barney, do you think you're giving us sour grapes, since you took the detective's test and failed miserably? Ass.
• My sergeant - not the infamous Sergeant A-Hole, but an a-hole nonetheless - was telling my friend that I had been miserable the last six months and am "burning my bridges." First of all, anyone would be miserable if they had to wait sixteen months for a promotion, while stuck in a district with a sergeant who made life difficult for him. Secondly, if I ever get demoted and put back in that district I will choose suicide instead. Burning my bridges? Flame on!
• The same Gil Gerard-looking sergeant - whom I mercifully kept of this blog - was talking to the sergeant I get along with and saying that he didn't know if the squad would be getting me a promotion gift because I had such a bad attitude. Oh darn, whatever will I do? Look, Buck Rogers, I specifically told everyone there that I did not want a party. That being said, everyone who ever gets promoted usually gets a badge and wallet with their new number. Besides, I'd rather get it from someone I respect, instead of a supervisor who hangs outside the bar trying to pick up drunk co-eds.

I realize it's hypocritical to slam people behind their backs for slamming me behind my back, but that e-mail really set me off. Sorry. I'll post something later that isn't filled with bile.